


The First and The Last

by arcadia_trash



Series: The Dragonborn Rises [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Chosen One, Daedra, Draconic/dragon-like Dovakhiin | Dragonborn, For the most part, Gen, Religion, Shamanism, Skaal, Spiritual, attempted redemption, buddy trip with confused dark elves and a few angry Nords, for skaal culture, head canon, irresponsible forces that be decide a fourteen year old savior is a good idea, kid hero, mortal/god relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadia_trash/pseuds/arcadia_trash
Summary: Brenna Little-Foot grows up in Skaal Village, trained to be a future shaman and hunter – but forces that be have other plans, and it’s a battle of Dragonborns to save not just her people, but all of Solsteim.
Series: The Dragonborn Rises [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542064
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chapter 1 summary: A misadventure while hunting exposes Bren to the outside world, and it fuels her desire to flee away from her sheltered life to see what else is out there.
> 
> I don't plan to put TOO much effort into this, it's basically an earworm of a plot that I want to put down and enjoy with text lol.

The forge sat empty -- meaning Bren could not ask for more iron arrows. She huffed and rushed to Baldor’s hut.

“Come on, wake up! The sun’s out already!”

No response. Bren pressed her face up against the frosted window, using her warm breath to clear it up. Still, no response. There was no fire lit within the home either. The girl adjusted the beaded quiver over her fur and leather parka; it jangled a bit, joining in with the sounds of morning chores of the other Skaal in her village. Among them was her mother, Frea, come to join her daughter for the hunt.

“Leave a man be, little fairy.” she said with a knowing grin. “Lest you wish to miss our next meal?”

“No, Momma.” Bren sighed, facing her now. The older woman was sharpening a stahlrim knife on the grinding stone. “But I don’t have many arrows.”

“A proper huntress either makes her own, or hardly needs them at all.” Frea said as she eyed down the blade. Satisfied, she sheathed it by her hip. Bren was suddenly struck by how young she looked, as if she were initiated as a full-fledged hunter only yesterday, rather than 14 years prior.

As usual, however, Bren did not have time to dwell on thoughts about her mother or her ways. The duo gave Storn their good byes before heading off.

“Stay safe, Frea. And you, Brenna,” the grandfather said with a smile, “Should stay with your mother this time.”

Bren’s own eyes shone with a bright and bold, “Maybe.” Soon, she was off, and it did not take long for either of them to blend into the mountainside.

To not have that ability to meld into the wilderness would have been embarrassing otherwise, considering that Bren was the granddaughter of the village shaman. Her own mother was one as well, and brought up her only child to follow in her footsteps. Whatever her father happened to be was never brought up, and Bren never particularly cared. All she knew and longed for was the wild as All-Maker designed it -- for the whispering winds and the song of snow, of the cycles of animals and the woods they crept through. It was freedom and order all at once, wild without the savagery she heard about in stories about outsiders. To be wild and at one with All was an enticement that bled through Bren the most.

And now, she observed and learned from Frea as they tracked for a hunt, as she always had. Bren was stealthy, and known to spook others unintentionally by how quiet her footsteps were. But Frea? She was something else. Even in the most powdered snow, or the muddiest field, no trace was left of her presence. Bren looked downwards at her wrapped-leather boots, stuffed with dried grass, and frowned; as usual, she had yet to learn that trick -- she left behind countless footprints of her own.

“Focus, my fairy. What do you see?” Frea spoke, more quiet than a gentle breeze. Bren drew her eyes first to her mother, and then to the clearing just a few feet ahead of them.

There was a rabbit, fat and tired, poking it’s head out to find it’s midday meal. The wind blew towards the Skaal stalking it, and so it could not catch their scent. Frea nodded wordlessly, and Brea took the sign to draw her first arrow.

Aim for the chest. Drawn in with your breath.

Then -- release.

“I missed!” Bren shouted out, the rabbit long since running away. Frea laughed.

“You don’t have to warn the whole forest, my fairy!” she said, standing up now. “No matter, the deer will trail down here later today. I’d rather sack a buck anyway, it’ll last us longer.”

“Why can’t I just use my magic, Momma? Pacify them, and then shoot.”

Frea rose a brow. “Hunting with what the All-Maker gives us is it’s own magic, Brenna. It’s one worth learning, no?”

“Hmph.” Bren breathed out, straining her eyes to view the distance between them and the patch of woods beyond them. It was further up the mountain, and beyond the trees was likely another clearing.

“Can I scout instead?”

“I don’t see why not. Perhaps you can scare a herd my way.” Frea answered, taking out her own bow. Bren was wildly jealous of it -- unlike her simple wood and iron set, Frea’s had been handcrafted and blessed by her own hands, intricate Skaal carvings etched in the Stahlrim. Without another word, she turned from her mother and snuck off to the other side of the clearing.

At first Bren reached the other trees, but found them much thinner than before. Her eyes widened -- this was Skaal land, but the council said nothing of cutting down more woods the season before. Out of curiosity, she walked further, and found her answer.

There was a hunter’s cabin further up. Not surprising, as the Skaal and other travelers would use it from time to time to rest between hunts and harvests. But felled trees were piled up around it, and with outsiders managing them.

Bren’s gut clenched, and she crouched further down; her bow was tucked away to free her hands for her preferred illusion magics. The hunt was magic, true, but mortals were another matter. Both hands opened with turquoise light, ready to calm whatever foul-play could occur.

It did not occur to the girl that she should report to her mother -- it was hard not to think of such a thing, when all around her were elven guards. She had only seen an elf once before, when she was quite young -- a dark elf reever had stumbled in with grievous injuries, likely from a fight gone wrong, and the shamans healed him up without question. He was well the next day, and was given enough supplies to reach Raven Rock on his own. Even then, Bren and the other children were forbidden from speaking with him, or even sharing the same room. Glimpses of ashy skin and pointed ears were all she could make out.

But these elves were different. These ones were more like golden sunlight, and one even had freckles splashed on his face. Their eyes shined but with yellow and green tones. The elf in charge dressed like a mage, covered in dark robes and heavy boots. They meandered about, looking bored almost, so Bren snuck over to a pile of wood, ear straining to hear their chatter.

“-- backwoods savage given up yet?”

“Of course he hasn’t. They’re stubborn folk you know.”

“Just give me the word and I’ll make it quick.” another snickered. Bren furrowed her brows and dared to step closer. Were they threatening someone? And who?

“Oi! You there!”

Bren jumped around to her feet, magic blazing. Her first spell hit the target, and he stumbled before shaking his head and walking off. Not that his shout or her spell went unheard: the others quickly drew their weapons and surrounded the intruder.

“It’s just a kid.” an archer huffed, lowering his arrow a little with disappointment. The mage did not take her so lightly.

“State your business, _child_, you are interfering with Thalmor business!”

“This is Skaal land and you’ve felled our trees.” Bren said plainly. Her mouth felt thick now, unsure of how to take on all of these strange elves at once. Not that this fact made her any less defiant. “But we can speak with my elders, if --”

“Enough. You and your people have no business here. You have one chance to turn back and keep your mouth shut.”

Bren swallowed. A tense second later, she made a move to leave -- before shooting a high-powered illusion spell right in the mage’s face. He fell backwards, and the spell’s effects hit a few of the others as well. Immediately, Bren pushed through and ran inside, locking the door behind her. There was pounding, and a scratching noise as one attempted to break the window to get in.

They had to be hiding someone -- or something. And what was with these elves harming the trees? They weren’t even using it! Their spirits could never rest without their life cycle reaching their proper completion otherwise; only a Skaal shaman could placate them, prevent their anger from ruining their future hunts and harvests. It all frustrated Bren as she impatiently looked through the cabin’s barrels, seeking an answer to it all.

“Hello? Who’s there?” a voice called out.

Bren made a strange noise from shock. “Baldor?”

“...Brenna?!”

It came from downstairs. Bren jumped over several steps and slid across the wooden floor, finally finding Baldor. He was tied up and quite worn. Quickly she used a knife to cut him free.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Bren said, worried and even a bit scared now. The pounding grew louder, her spell having worn off on the others. Baldor shook his head and stumbled to a chest, chugging on a healing potion and tossing aside the glass.

“No time to explain, we leave now!” Baldor ordered, taking his ax from the same chest. “These elves ain’t here for fun and games, and they won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand? They _will_ kill you. Don’t give them that chance.”

Bren could only nod, never having heard him be so serious before. In fact, she never found herself in any true danger, outside of the occasional animal attack. They rushed back upstairs, and hands out again, Bren prepared for battle.

The door kicked in, but they didn’t see a golden elf -- instead there was a very flustered, angry, and wild-looking Frea. Bleeding bodies laid behind her, arrows at their backs and heads. Bren’s eyes widened.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

The Skaal Village was not far, and the rush there was a blur. Bren felt her face heating up with the knowledge that she was in bigger trouble than she originally thought she would be in.

“Baldor, report to the Chief. She needs to know about these strangers intruding our forests.” Frea ordered. Though young enough to be his daughter, she was still a shaman, and one of their best warriors -- the blacksmith was in no position to deny her. He headed off to Greathall to speak with Fanari Strong-Voice. Bren wisely stepped back when Frea turned to face her.

“Go back to the hut. I’m speaking with your grandfather.”

“I’m not a child.” Bren tried to argue. “You can talk to me too, you know!”

“You’ve barely met your fourteenth winter, and disobeyed me as if you were an ignorant babe.” Frea said. “Go _home._”

Bren clenched her fists and her teeth. After a brief staredown, she turned on her heel and did as she was told, loudly stomping the entire way. The door slammed behind her. Out of spite, the girl threw her quiver and bow haphazardly onto the weapon’s rack, and threw her parka and boots over the previously-pristine floor. Would her mother make her clean it up later? Yes. Did Bren care at the moment? Of course not.

The fire, low but surely burning, flickered in the home; Bren threw a hunk of salted horker meat onto the cooking rack above it, watching it sizzle and melt off it’s preserved fat as it heated up.

It wasn’t the first time that Bren felt babied by her own mother. She was forced to recite and learn all the rites and stories of the Skaal, and to even memorize the delicate ceremonies for the turn of the seasons. All of that, as well as learning how to hunt and read the lands for farming. As much as Bren loved the All-Maker, and contemplated what it would be to become the next shaman, it all felt trite -- no matter how much she learned, Frea would always speak over her daughter. When given an inch, Brenna Little-Foot ran off another mile for the freedom it gave her, and her mother saw it as dangerous insolence.

The horker meat was done. Bren lazily plopped it onto a plate and began to nibble. It wasn’t as invigorating as it usually was.

“That door was shut hard enough for Tel Mithryn to hear, I bet.” Storn said with a light chuckle; he carefully stepped over the mess his granddaughter made. Bren refused to answer, so she ate more of her meal instead.

“I’m sure it felt exciting, going after those elves, saving Baldor. You’re as bold as your mother, you know.”

“She never likes it when I get into an adventure.” Bren sighed. “You should have seen me! I enchanted them all, and I didn’t even get that tired!”

“I don’t doubt it, my fairy. You take your magical studies seriously.” Storn soothed, taking a few dead leaves out of her braids. “Your mother knows it too, even if she rarely sees it. She just worries for your safety.”

“I’m strong enough for the world, Grandpa. I’m not a babe.” she sighed, putting her plate down. Storn hummed.

“Of course you aren’t, but you are young yet. Frea only has so much time with you left before you are your own woman. Is it wrong of your mother to keep you close, to learn all you can from her?”

Bren blushed. “That’s not what I’m mad about...”

“I know it isn’t the reason why you’re upset, my fairy, but it’s why your mother can be hard on you.” Storn explained. “She isn’t seeking to destroy your vigor, she merely wishes for you to live long enough to use that vigor for something grander than stumbling into trouble.”

Bren slumped backwards on the bench until she rolled onto the floor, feet in the air. He laughed.

“I mean it. Even the most eager sparrow can not fly until his feathers are fully grown. You may know so many spells, but now is not your time.”

“...Doesn’t matter if mom still treats me like a babe.”

Storn smiled knowingly and playfully patted her shin. “Let her be a mother. Once you are older, she can never have this again. You won’t either.”

That was something to think about at the least. Bren was stubborn, but she was also thoughtful, and questioned everything told to her -- and it wasn’t as if she were completely blind to the truth of ever-changing time.

Later, Bren was told to clean up her silly mess, and for once she did so without a smart remark. Frea sighed, watching over her now as Aela bugged her to play tag outside. The sun would be gone soon, and another day would begin tomorrow for a better chance at hunting. She spoke of the matter to Storn that night, Fanari with them as she consulted their guidance on the matter of the high elves -- so they were called. Bren sat up, awake, though she lounged on her bed and listened while preparing for sleep behind the bookcase that hid her from view.

“You know I have felt a darkness growing for some time.” Frea urged her father. “Perhaps it’s these invaders.”

“I don’t know. They were after Baldor’s knowledge of Stahlrim forging, but they fled as soon as we came to check the cabin.” Fanari explained. “Yet the land...even I can feel it is wary.”

Storn held his hands over the fire. “It will make the hunt ever more difficult...I suppose the horker herds can handle a few more kills. But none more than that.”

“Something must be done then! I can scout ahead myself. All-Maker willing, I can root out the darkness for good.” Frea demanded. Bren wondered whether she could come along, only for Storn to show uncertainty.

“He favors you, but you are not immune to the dangers of the world. You should have at least one other warrior with you.”

Favored One -- that was what Frea was often called, when they thought Bren could not hear them. She laid down carefully in her bed, to imitate sleep, listening further as they made plans to search the rest of the lands for clues. Frea was favored, by the All-Maker Bren had always guessed, and it always played a role in her mother’s life one way or another. Perhaps it simply referred to her future as the head shaman?

“Are you awake, my fairy?”

Bren lifted her head a little in the dark. “I am now, Momma.”

“I leave in the morning with Nikulas, to search for other intruders.” Frea began, much softer in tone now. There was no rebuke on her lips or in her eyes. Bren sat up all the way, her long hair hanging a bit over the side of her bed.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Momma. I was just trying to help.”

Frea smiled. “And perhaps I was too harsh. But that is the past now. Tomorrow you can hunt with Wulf, he trusts your shot now.”

Normally such a compliment would have made Bren glow with pride, but not now, not when she saw a new world opened to her. Her temple was kissed, before Frea readied herself and laid at the other end of their bed.

They had always been together. Ever since she grew in her womb, they had never parted. Even on hunts, they went together. Storn always remembered those memories fondly, of Frea wrapping up her baby daughter and strapping the bundle to her back, refusing to leave the babe behind for even a hunt or pilgrimage to a local elemental stone. It was in this way that Bren learned all she knew, all that she loved, from her mother. The Favored One favored her only child immensely, and Bren never doubted it for a moment.

Bren did not doubt it now. But something was lit inside her little heart, and the talk of darkness only fueled it further.

First, Frea would leave for her adventure. And once Storn was not looking, Bren would leave for her own.

\----

Frea and Nikalus went northwards, towards the icy coasts of Solsteim. Knowing this, Bren chose to go southeast -- in fact, after snatching a map from Thorstan’s cabin, she decided to head off towards Raven Rock first. The Nord from Skyrim was a meticulous academic, studying the Skaal and their ways from the shadows, and so no detail of the island was left out. Bren silently thanked the old man for his work and stuffed it into her parka. After packing up her usual hunting gear, she rushed off once Storn made his way towards the town center to look over their food supplies.

By All-Maker, the rush had felt wonderful! The sun shone brightly over the winter landscape, and bren used a simple flame spell to occasionally warm up her feet. her hands kept under her parka; despite years of training as a shamanic huntress, Bren could not help but be laidback for once, and enjoy the sights around her. The usual hunting and traveling trails were used to go more south, and soon the mountainous terrain grew more sandy than snowy.

Not that it grew any less cold, though the winds were less sharp at least. Bren slowed down by now and felt at odds with this alien landscape. After shuffling to hide in a dried out brush, she took out her map and laid it out on the ground.

It suddenly occurred to the girl, that she had never traveled so far before in her life -- and that the world was bigger than she vainly assumed.

There was a breath in, and then a breath out. Calming, soothing. A small prayer of protection offered up to the All-Maker, and another to ask the spirits of this new land their kindness.

“Let’s go off road a bit.” Bren muttered to herself, nibbling on some roasted leek as her lunch. The sun was high now, and any predators would be eating their prey and lounging in the warmth; it would be safe to go through the wilderness, if just to avoid strangers on the trails.

Plan in hand, and feeling her confidence rise again, Bren put away the map, finished her leek, and began to walk again. This time, her gloves on, she left her hands out, magic at the ready should something fearsome cross her way.

Almost immediately, she found a fearsome sight indeed: a Nordic looking Mead Hall, but surrounding by Riekling. A few boars were about, one in a pin, and two others being ridden by the small blue creatures.

The drawings of them back home did not do them much justice. Thorstan was a terrible artist, and he failed to capture their wild, beady eyes, their sharp fingers and teeth. Bren did her best to sneak around them, before a lone warrior sniffed the air and looked directly at her crouched form. He shrieked shrilly and pointed his spear at her, others looking at his display.

“_goblin speak_”

Bren squealed from the shock of it, using both hands to spew forth all the calming spells she knew.

None of them worked.

Magic used up in the moment, Bren whipped out her bow and whacked a few Reiklings that initially charged at her. But a charging boar and his rider rammed her from the side, and the weapon flung from her person.

No sound came out of Bren’s mouth, she could only gasp, vainly attempting to regain her breath. She fell from her hands and knees to avoid a spear, watching the head stick roughly into the frozen ground in front of her eyes. It was then, vision swimming, stomach flipping, that she heard distant shouts.

They were reminiscent of the Skaal war cries. Less wild, more bold and direct -- and accompanied by the clanking of crude spears hitting metal shields. Realizing that the Riekling left her, Bren steadied herself up again to her knees to look over at the battle forming.

They...resembled Skaal, but did not dress nor act like her people, at least not exactly. Bren stood still, shrinking into herself a bit and creeping back towards the shadows, yet still watching with wide blue eyes. These warriors, lead by a tall, powerful woman, slaughtered their enemy in near glee. It make her stomach turn just a little bit, though Bren found it hard to feel sorry for these bizarre creatures. They killed on sight, so they may as well die by that creed.

Soon the chaos came to an end, a few of the men and women whooping at their victory. Only then did any took note of her. Bren stood up and held up a shaky hand.

“Blessings.” she said, shyly. Most Skaal were taller than Bren, but these people -- Nords most likely, now that she got to calm down to think about it -- they were _huge_. Brenna Little-Foot indeed, she barely came up to their chests. The leader, a woman now smiling, walked over, sheathing her axe.

“Greetings little one. What brings a child here, to this damnable place?”

“I’m Bren. I’m traveling as a shaman. In training.” she explained, still feeling out of place. One man laughed.

“Shaman? A bit young for that, don’t you think Bujold?”

Bujold held her grin. “And lucky. Come, we can talk more inside, now that these bastards are finally dead.”

Bren did as she was told, eyeing the bloody armor and weapons on these Nords. They entered in, and despite the Reikling artifacts and huts left inside, it made for a cozy respite. She went up to the fire to warm up her ungloved hands. Other warriors fussed with barrels to find something to put up for a feast.

“Are you Nords?” Bren asked. “Why are you here on Solsteim?”

Bujold uncorked some mead and sipped. “Ah, don’t you know? Skaal aren’t the only ones on this island. Though some of us are from the mainland. Yes, we are Nords, and damn good ones at that.”

A man with a dreaded mohawk drew up next to Bujold, hugging her shoulder.

“Come! We’re feasting! What’s with these weary talks?”

“Kuvar, this is a child.”

“I’m on my fourteenth winter this season.” Bren said with an attempt to look serious.

“Alright little shaman, how about this? Drink and dine with us, then we talk!” Kuvar said with a friendly face. Her stomach now grumbling, Bren agreed and they sat about the central fire pit, the smells of hearty stews and meats and roasts filling the air. Bren did not speak much, instead listening to these people chatter and laugh, happy over their victory. It was from there that she realized that they had been ousted the year before by the Reiklings, and only now just retook it. No wonder Bujold called her lucky: had they not retaken their Hall that day, Bren may well be dead.

“Is this yours, little shaman?”

Bren looked over, a man with dark hair and a beard bearing steel armor. During the chatter, she caught on his name: Halborn Iron-Fur. His arms, wide and strong from smithing, stretched out to show her a simple hunter’s bow. Bren gasped.

“My bow! I almost forgot about it!”

“A good warrior treats her weapons as an extension of her own body.” Halborn shared gently. “But you will learn, no doubt. You have that resolution in your eyes. I’ve seen it in many warriors before you.”

Bren blinked. “Oh, thank you...I’m more of a huntress though. My mother is the warrior.”

“To be a warrior is more than glory on the battlefield. It is to hold fire in your heart and courage in your soul” Halborn shared with a nod. Bren laughed weakly, hands going over her childhood tool.

“I thought I was like that, until...until my magic didn’t work.” She admitted. “I coulda died.”

Halborn grunted knowingly. he took a bite of a beef roast. “Life is like that. You think you know how to do it all, until you find yourself unsure of what to do next. Then you learn. Those with the luck and wit to live are the ones who learn more for another day.”

Before their conversation continued, he was distracted by a discovery by another woman, Hilund. He quickly became sucked in, finding out more details about his beloved lost forge, and Bren was left to her own devices. She ate and drank until she was full, and then elected to sneak outside for some fresh air.

It was night by then. The sky was crisp and clear, bright with stars and one of the moons. A perfect time to pray and meditate.

The All-Maker, as always, answered her readily -- not in the way of mortal conversation, but in signs and images. Bren sat there with her feet tucked under, steady breathed, eyes focused upwards at the sky, her palms similarly placed. The sky would swirl a bit in her vision, and all the better; a shaman, even an apprentice, knew how to use the creation around them to see the spirit within.

I’m so scared, but I can’t go back. What do I do?

Halborn’s words filled her mind, albeit briefly. The stars almost look to brighten.

Keep going, All-Maker said. I’m here with you.

But I’m so scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want the land and my people to die. I should have stayed home...

Stars slowed their dance, but the breeze fell by her face. Bren breathed it in, traces of the pines and local lake filling her nose. Then, came the spirit walk. Her inner self ascended and flew through the sky, jettisoning towards the ocean. It was real yet not real, a clear path leading towards the coast.

Then the stars stopped. The sounds of merrymaking, though muffled, suddenly hit Bren’s ears. The cold seeped through. All-Maker gave His answer, and Bren could only accept it.

It was a good thing He did too, considering that she lost her map during the attack anyway. The warriors of Thirsk Mead Hall learned a few new Skaal swearwords that night.

\----

A lone figure, dark and stiff, sat amidst a circle of dragons, ancient and trapped in this dangerous realm with him. Not by choice, but by his will.

His will was powerful. His will was dawning. And it was long past time for his due. The figure, face shrouded with sharp armor, stood up, and began his mantra, drawing strength from his dragon slaves. The image of the Stones, connected directly to the people of the island, filled him, and soon he filled them all...

_Here in my shrine_  
_That they have forgotten_  
_Here do shall toil_  
_That they might remember_  
_By night they reclaim_  
_What by day was stolen_  
_Far from themselves_  
_I grow ever near to them_  
_Their eyes once were blinded_  
_Now through me do they see_  
_Their hands once were idle_  
_Now through them do I speak_  
_And when the world shall listen_  
_And when the world shall see_  
_And when the world remembers_  
_That world shall cease to be_

The mantra repeated itself, growing more and more potent, slowly seeping ever deeper and corrupting the Stones of All-Maker’s might. Spirits grew uneasy at this imbalance and slowly fled, one by one, as his own power replaced them. It was a slow process in the realm of mortals, but to this dark figure, the conquest took but a moment. The master of dragons nearly heaved as the spell continued to grow.

Yet the dragon master had his own Master, one who knew the tides even better than he. And he saw another figure, a little girl with wild eyes and a soft heart, who held within herself a power and prophecy he foresaw since he first laid eyes on his current puppet. A prophecy and plan four thousand years in the making.

His puppet was a fool, and he wanted to keep it that way. So he bided his time, watching as his fool extended his power outside to the mortal realm by his folly of a ritual.

Right where his next Dragonborn would be. She was not the first, but she would be the last. And she was going to be his.

And so the Master, a lone figure, deep and fluid, sat amidst the fumes and waters of his circle of slaves, primal and dominate in this dangerous realm with him.

Both by choice, and by his will, as is the way of the Dark Prince of Fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determination is all Bren has to follow the coast to Raven Rock, but will it be enough to get her there safely? Shadowy sights along the way give her doubt...but a new town and potential ally gives her hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn it's been awhile lmao. Planning to write more though -- enjoy!

Dirt should not feel so...lifeless. Even the earth was alive, yet it wasn’t so here. Not where it mattered.

Frea shook off the dust from her hands and looked over at Nikulas. The young man was eager for some thrills, and stood there, bored, at the usual sight of a calm wilderness.

If only he knew how to look the way a shaman could. Then he would see the deadness of the dirt, hear the creaking of sickly trees and weak stones. And it all grew louder, the closer they walked towards the mysterious temple in the distance. It was like a beacon, past Lake Fjalding, calling for all things to give everything to it -- even their very life force.

“Is something wrong?” Nikalus asked, now unnerved. Frea always had that look in her eyes, bright yet dark at once, when things begin to form in her mind. He swore that sometimes, they shined like gold.

“Yes, very wrong. And it seems our journey is not over yet.” She turned to him again. “But I fear what I may find. You can turn back, if you wish.”

The merchant’s son straightened up. “Never! I’m with you.”

Frea smiled. “Then let’s go. All-Maker can’t always give us the time, not when He has given us feet to use instead.”

\----

The coast was wild, pushing and pulling waves this way and that as aquatic life crept here and there. In the distance, Bren heard the call of netches -- yet another creature she had yet to see with her own young eyes.

It sent her into an excited shiver. So much, so new, so _different!_ Why had her kin tried so hard to hide this all from her? Why was she so terrified of this new world just the night before? It was wonderful!

Well, dangerous too, but Bren was not willing to admit that it terrified her. She was a huntress at heart, she could grow used to new dangers of the wild; all that mattered was that she practiced her sneaking, to avoid another mishap as had happened with the Reiklings.

She shivered out of fear from that memory. Why hadn’t her magic worked on them? It worked well enough on grown adults, even mages. Perhaps there were things Bren had yet to master after all.

Dwarven ruins sat in the short distance now. Bren perked -- perhaps a place to rest for a while? Her stomach grumbled; she had not eaten since she departed before sunrise. There was a bridge, leading towards a sunken building barely above the water. Bren relaxed more than she should have and meandered about towards the stout tower in the middle.

“Oi! Stop there!”

Bren jumped, looking over to her side. At a smaller tower to her left, there stood a Reaver, an arrow drawn back and aimed at her chest. Her hands glowed, this time with flames. There was no way she would be caught without a working spell again. He drew closer, lowering the bow a little when he recognized her as a Skaal.

“Ha! Go figure. A kid _and_ a savage.”

Bren frowned. “Hey!”

The Reaver laughed and relaxed his hold. The bow and arrow were promptly returned to his back. “I mean no offense, kid. Your folk helped me out before. Never had a chance to repay any of you.”

Bren’s eyes widened. “Oh! That was you?”

“One and only.” A part of his fur armor was moved to the side, to show the scar of his previous injury on his abdomen. “That mage there was a real kicker, didn’t hold nothin’ back. But she got me right again. I can be grateful for that. You’re her daughter, right? You were little then. Come on, you can sit with us for the night if you like.”

A stiff nod shared her agreement, though Bren was unsure of the whole affair. This particular Reaver only received the better end of the Skaal’s sense of hospitality out of pity, and the mere fact that they kept out of their territory. That did not mean that Bren was left uneducated about their bandit ways.

Well, so long as they did not act like bandits to her, perhaps Bren could be open to another night spent with wanderers. Resting alone in the wild sounded less enticing, the further the sun set in the horizon.

“Devol! What in Oblivion is that?” an older woman called out, frowning. She tended to a pot of stew around a fire, furs set up around it as other Reavers lounged. They sat around for a well-earned rest and meal, while others scouted until their own turn for supper.

Devol clasped an arm around Bren’s shoulders and shook her a bit with a smile. “This here is a friend of mine! Why don’t you serve her up some grub, Deline?”

Deline -- who resembed Devol greatly -- grumbled about something or other while taking out a smaller, though still inviting, bowl. Bren was drawn into the circle of much taller dark elves, all of them taking a gander over at her odd looks. She timidly accepted the pillaged Dwemer bowl of hot stock. The design was rather jagged, reminding her of blocky lines made by aging mountains.

But as she looked over the unique plating, she realized that the Dunmer were still staring at her. They couldn’t help it -- too few dared to traverse where the Skaal hunted. Ergo, they were rarely seen. They took in her few blue facial tattoos, carved onto her face just a couple years prior when she officially began her spiritual training. It was her mark of growing maturity, and Bren couldn’t wait to get new ones to mark her ascent into adulthood, and later, shamanism -- but these Reavers knew none of that. Too few understood, let alone knew, of the Skaal way. They saw only a young girl covered in furs and etchings reminiscent of wildlings.

Bren cleared her throat and kept her chin up despite the staring. “I’m Bren. My mother healed him in the past.”

“Shoulda left him to bleed out, I think. The man’s an idiot.” Deline said with a roll of her eyes. She leaned back against the grand wall. “So, you’re not joining our ranks, are you?”

“No, just spending the night. If you don’t mind.” Bren added. Another Reaver chuckled.

“Aw, but she’s _so_ polite.”

But Devol wasn’t bothered. He got his own bit of food and sat next to Bren. “I say we get a story out of her. Before she hits the road.”

“About what? Tree fairies?” another snorted. Bren felt her ears and neck flush red from embarrassment as the others laughed at her expense.

“Hey! She’s our guest! Besides, Skaal’s can--”

“Skaal this, Skaal that! It’s all you’ve ever talked about since they saved your sorry rumpus.” Deline said with a sip of stew. She turned to Bren. “You might want to leave before he keeps ya around for good, life here ain’t the limelight for a kid.”

“It’s okay, I like telling stories. I’m training to be a shaman like my mother. I had to learn them all growing up.” Bren put forward, if just to save her new friend from some embarrassment.

“Alright then, whaddya got?” One Reaver asked with a full mouth. Bren thought for a moment, sipping her stew, before thinking of a battle-filled story worth their attention.

“There’s one you might like. It’s The Traitor, and his deception by the demon Herma Mora.”

The others “ooh’d”, and perhaps not without some mockery. But Bren threw one of her braided pigtails behind her shoulder and sat up more properly. The bowl set down, she reached into her inner pockets, withdrawing a hand to reveal glittering powder from one of her many pouches. It was thrown into the fire, and instantly the flames changed into a sickening green and black, flickering with a hiss. Devol almost chocked on a piece of ash yam backing away from it.

“What the---?”

Bren scrunched up her face, her little nose and brow looking only a tad more serious under the glow of the magical fire. “Would you sell your soul for all the knowledge that is to be, only for it to be squandered in slavery?”

A few awkwardly shared glances, before looking back over to the story teller. Bren continued.

“Would all that knowledge be worth it, if just to have it for it’s own sake? Or would you see it worthless as your new power could only be used as a pawn to an Abyss of Wretchedness?”

The flames calmed, though they were still quite green.

And then the tales of treachery and dragons begun.

It was smoothly spun together, the way a spider weaved a web for her long-awaited prey. Simply, with ease, with eagerness. Soon the Dunmer found themselves drawn in, listening in to the tale of a champion, first of the dragons, who then betrayed them to offer allegiance to Herma Mora -- the Daedra of Fate and Forbidden Knowledge, the eternal enemy of the peace-loving Skaal. The champion was enticed with the most forbidden of all knowledge -- that which would enable him to command any dragon under his will.

But the champion turned Traitor had been found out. Despite his army of accumulated dragons, they failed to fight against all the other Dragon worshipers, among them the most powerful -- of Vahlok. Just as the Traitor was about to fall from his injuries, Herma Mora swooped in, stealing away His failed Champion into Apocrypha and away into Oblivion.

And there he remains, until one day, Herma Mora will use his Traitorous Champion, and rip away all the secrets of the Skaal for himself.

Devol gave a low whistle at the end of the story. The fire still held a green sheen, but was otherwise near normal in color again.

“See what I mean?” he egged his sister. Devine sighed.

“Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. I guess that was worth letting her shack up for the night.”

Bren grinned. “Thank you.”

It was a peaceful evening with an early time to rest -- but it would not stay that way.

\----

As usual, his tea was late. Neloth impatiently tapped his fingers at his staff forge, watching a soul gem infuse into the wood, craving some canis root at the moment. Though with how long the wait had been, he would have settled for a concoction of grass pods.

“Ah, _now_ you return.” Neloth shouted out, hearing the whoosh of his servant finally entering. Valeria was gently shot upwards by the magical sigal far below, gracefully landing on her feet at the welcoming balcony. Her footsteps, however, did not sound so steady as they should have. A throbbing ankle produced itself at the hem of her dress when the master wizard finally turned to face her.

Still no tea, but Valeria _did_ share something far more enticing.

“Something’s wrong. I tried to pick up the shipment, but the merchant dropped the damned barrel on my foot and wondered off!”

“So? Where is the tea then?”

Valeria breathed in carefully, minding her temper. “Master, I followed him, fearing that he was in a daze. He did not stop until he reached the Tree Stone, by Skaal Village.”

“_So?_”

“Others were there too. Mostly Riekling. And they were chanting about someone named Miraak.”

Neloth pricked his ears. “Go on.”

A quick debrief later, and he packed his things into a little travel bag and rushed out. Tavras hurriedly hid a book he previously had open, stuffing it awkwardly into the front of his Conjurer’s robes. His master paid him no mind and pushed forward into the ashy lands before him. He frowned and called out.

“Er, sir, where are you--”

“Away from here! Mind your chores, boy, lest I come back and turn your nose into a new fungal spore!”

Tavras eyed the older elf carefully, taking out his book and returning to his work. “Yes, master.”

And soon, the wizard was gone, off to travel and find himself an adventure that was, hopefully, a challenge for once.

\----

_It was an uneasy dream, one that felt reminiscent of spirit walks, but Bren was too lost in the power of the call to fight it at first. _

_ **Here in my shrine.** _

_“Here in your shrine...” Bren muttered, sitting up from her bed of nothingness._

_ **Here in my temple.** _

_“You’re...you’re temple...” she said now, with a frown. Her legs moved, but her mind began to nudge with obvious discomfort. Whose temple, whose shrine? She would be shamaness one day, after all: those details were important to know. Besides, who dared seep into her mind in the way only the All-Maker could? Yet her body had yet to catch up. The bizarre chant continued._

_ **Here you will toil.** _

_Bren did not repeat the words this time -- but an image filled her head nonetheless, of a local Stone, tall and proud._

_And corrupted._

_“I don’t...”_

_The voice grew louder._

_ **That you might remember.** _

_“Don’t...”_

_Her feet fumbled now. They grew sluggish under her mental power struggle. Bren began to panic._

_This was wrong. Something was so very wrong. The Stones were all potent sources of spirit, meant to better help laymen convey the will of the All-Maker. The Stone this chanter tried to show her in mind visions -- the Sun Stone -- no longer gave the warming surety of strength, but an aura of tyrannical willpower. A sickening and selfish willpower. Of darkness. Much of the chant had continued before Bren heard it more clearly again._

_ **Through you do I speak.** _

_“No!” Bren let out more harshly now, stumbling and falling to her hand and knees. “No you don’t!”_

_The images blurred._

_“Leave the stone alone! Go away!” Bren cried out desperately. She crawled and slipped until she felt herself falling into a sudden coldness. Perhaps she would die. Perhaps she would be stuck forever. It didn’t matter, no matter how freezing or suffocating she became, Bren refused to bow before anyone other than her All-Maker. So be it._

“Bren! Wake up!”

Blue eyes shot open, followed by a sudden inhale of breath. Bren’s arms flailed out of panic, but Devol was there to keep a hand on her chest.

“Easy, kid! You almost drowned!”

“Huh?”

Clearing vision and steadying breaths showed Bren a very wet Devol. He looked drenched -- his hair slicked back and his outer furs warming by the fire. Several of the Reavers were behind him. Bren sat up and shivered, realizing that she was drenched as well.

“You were having a night terror or something. Flung yourself into the ocean before we realized it.” Devol explained. Bren looked down at her hands. A small flames spell was murmured to help herself dry off. It gave a warmth that the Sun Stone in her vision no longer had.

It was so obvious now -- the feeling of darkness. And if her spirit walks were being intruded upon, then something powerful was at play. She had to find out who the chanter was.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I need to go now.”

“Now? Why not at--”

“I know where I need to be.” Bren said with realization, jumping up to grab her parka. She was drying up decently now, and was filled up with the stew. It could hold her over until she reached Raven Rock. “Sorry about leaving, but uh...”

Delvine held back her brother, watching the girl rush off in a fright. “Let her be. She’s on her own.”

Devol tried to argue and even go after her, but the others wouldn’t let him. Bren was not a Reaver, not of their family; they had no reason to rush off into the ashlands after dark, not even for her.

And Bren had no problem with that.

\----

Storn did not realize Bren had disappeared until the evening of Frea’s departure. He was a hands off kind of man, only stepping in when asked or ordered; it was no different with youth, especially with someone as normally responsible as Bren.

But she never returned for the village feast.

Well, “feast” was a generous term for their dwindling supply, but it was a community gathering nonetheless. All came into the Greathall, sharing seats around the fire as they shared a meal and swapped news from their day. Bren preferred to arrive a little later than others, yet she never came even after the eating began. Storn grew worried.

Setting down his own plate, he stood and roamed the darkening outside of the village. A few Skaal sat by the outdoor fire, keeping watch, if barely so for how tired they looked. Not far from them he saw Aela, roughly five summers younger than his granddaughter, and stopped her.

“Aela, have you seen Brenna today? Did she go off for a hunt?”

“No, I thought she went with Frea.” she answered as she jumped in and out of her stone circle. Storn’s eyes widened.

“Frea went with Nikalus and no one else.”

“Bren left too though, I thought she was late or something.” Aela said plainly, then her stomach growled. The jumping ceased. “Can I go now please?”

Storn was about to shoo her off when he saw one of the Skaal guards stand up abruptly, if clumsily so. He walked towards them. Aela by then had scampered off for food. 

“Is something off, brother?” Storn asked. He noted that the man’s eyes were open; they stared off, as if seeing something he could not. The others left at the fire had fallen asleep as well.

"Here in your shrine..."

Blood ran cold at the eerie, nonsensical reply. The man continued to walk off. Shuffling in the snow caught Storn’s attention. The man and woman left at the fire, now walking and eyes opened too, continued the chant in unison.

"That they have forgotten Here do shall toil That they might remember..."

Storn followed them. The night was clear here at least, the moons shining just enough to allow him sight on the terrain. The three continued to chant that chant, blasphemous as it was, up and up a steady hill on snow and frozen earth. Far from fire left Storn’s breath freezing like a cloud, dissipating to the stars. He hardly felt the cold anyway. 

"By night they reclaim What by day was stolen..."

A deep, primal fear began to fill his senses, his shaman skills picking on a dark and ancient force: a force coming from where the Wind Stone should have been. 

And there they were: Reavers, Skaal, even some Reikling, all of them slaving away on the Wind Stone in ways that made Storn finally snap. 

“Enough of this madness! What are you doing? This is sacred land! How dare you!” 

Storn shouted this as he tugged back on his fellow Skaal. They pulled back unphased, staring at the stone, and picked up some axes to work. 

“You, back!” Storn ordered, pushing a Reikling aside with his leg; he was promptly ignored. 

His efforts were in vain, as he quickly discovered. Creatures of all manners were around the Wind Stone now, working on it with picks and carving tools, repeating the chant together in a daze of dreamwalking. The stone itself was bitter, freezing -- not a sharp refreshment as it once was. 

There was no need for further investigation. Storn rushed back to the village, where Chief Fanari waited for him. Around them a few sleepwalking Skaal meandered out of their homes, confused friends and relatives trying to stop them.

“What is this? What is going on?” She demanded to know. Storn breathed in, gesturing the other magic users to him. Something was coming, something he feared for a long time, and he would need all the help he could get. Storn locked eyes for a firm reply.

“An invasion.”

\----

“Captain?”

Veleth eyed Dreyla, hunched over her small ash yam farm, and hard at work as usual. Her father busied himself with tanning beside her, at his market stall. He then turned to the Redoran guard who addressed him.

“What is it, soldier?”

“Er, there’s someone you need to see. At the gate.”

“Newcomer?”

“Yes sir, a Skaal child.”

That got his attention. Veleth followed him to the very front of the gate, where another two guards stood with her. Though, standing was putting it lightly -- the poor thing was woozy on her feet, almost leaning against one of his men. As they got closer, Veleth could see the exhaustion in her eyes, though they lit up a bit when she caught sight of him.

“I need to go in. You have a stone here.”

Veleth drew in a sharp breath. “Indeed we do, the Earth Stone. Are you a pilgrim, Skaal?”

“Something’s wrong. I can’t sleep, or he’ll take me.”

“Steady, love.” A guard said quietly, holding onto her shoulders as she swayed again. Veleth motioned for them to move her along, to take to the Retching Netch. His bonemold armor creaked against a growing ash wind. The girl was almost pushed over by it. They made it quickly inside, where the air was still.

“Here, take this.” Veleth said, ignoring the bizarre looks and whispering from the patrons of the club. A bit of stamina potion was poured out into a mug of mead and mixed. “It’ll wake you up quick.”

The girl sleepily took a sip. There was a pause, where she stared at the concoction, and then downed the whole mug in just a few seconds. She inhaled loudly at her last gulp, and immediately she looked much more awake.

“Whoa!” she shouted, earning her some laughter from the others. The guards sat her down before Veleth dismissed them back to their posts. He sat down at the table beside her, his back to the stairway that lead downstairs.

“Do you have a name, young one?”

Bren nodded, taking in her surroundings now. “Brenna Light-Foot, but I prefer Bren.”

“Alright, Bren. I suppose you have a reason for being here.”

She paled a little. Veleth leaned his elbows on the table.

“This is House Redoran territory, but we welcome all safe travelers. Especially vulnerable ones. If someone is after you, we can give you a safe haven here.”

“But it isn’t safe. The stones are corrupted.”

Again with the stones. His red eyes glanced around to see if anyone listened in.

“We know there is something going on with the stones. What would a girl your age want with them?”

Bren hesitated before asking her own question. “Do you know someone by the name of Miraak?”

“I can’t say that I have, yet...”

It was Veleth’s turn to hesitate. It was there, at the tip of his tongue, but all he could recall were murky memories of his sleepwalking, working and chanting with the others doomed to never resting. The moment anyone laid their head to rest, an hour later they were sure to get up, dazed, and wander over to the Earth Stone just by the shoreline. They would work for hours, until they would wake up again. Anyone who could work an alchemy table was busy making stamina potions -- the stronger the better.

“This is no time for a child to be caught up in this mess.” Veleth eventually answered. A hard look at her swirling chin tattoo, and he added, “I’ll have a guard dispatched with a courier, have one of your people come for you.”

“No!” Bren nearly shouted. “It’s uh, I was sent here. My grandfather is the shaman, and my mother is one too, and a warrior. They sent me here. To fix things.”

Her white ears flushed brightly, though the rest of her face was dead still. Not that it convinced the weathered captain any.

“You can stay here until one of your kin comes for you. I’m sure someone here can house you for the next few days.”

“But!--”

“Come along then, don’t waste my time.” Veleth said pointedly, standing up and gesturing at the door. Bren looked around, and found the patrons all staring at her. One was armored with chitin, his helmet also a mask. The only other non-dark elf in the club was an orc, and he glowered at the new intruder.

“...Okay.”

They returned outside, where a few new stragglers walked their way towards the Earth Stone in the distance. Bren’s heart lept.

“So, Skaal Village then...” Veleth muttered to himself, writing up something on spare paper and a quill, on a post by the blacksmith. He too was not an elf, and looked short and broad, with dark hair. Just as he took an ebony sword to the grindstone, the captain sighed.

“Using up the last of your ebony, Glover?”

“All I can do, with shipments coming in soon.” he explained, holding up the blade to his nose. “Shame that Crescius is still wasting his time in that dried up mine.”

Bren rose her brows. “There’s a mine here?”

“An ebony mine, just up there.” Glover said, back to grinding. “Been in that old Imperial’s family for a few generations, but it dried up a few years back. Convinced there’s still some loot in there.”

Bren then turned her eyes towards the Earth Stone again. Perhaps such bad luck had a source?

“Send that to Skaal Village immediately. Do not delay.” Veleth ordered to a Redoran guard and the courier. They left just as he turned back towards Bren and Glover. “Speaking of which, I bet Crescius and Aphia have some room. They could use the distraction.”

“Aye. They’ll be in the mine though. You know how he gets this time of day.”

By now, Bren figured the whole town was on edge. Potion-drenched exhaustion and creeping poverty littered the sea-side settlement. She saw it in the idle, drunken miners as they walked past the market square again and walked upwards a small hill. There stood a mining entrance, though Bren never saw such a thing before. She was used to the open-air mining of the Skaal, within wild caves and mountainsides. Wood held up the hallow inside, a door centering it all against the rock.

“It’s a house.” She stated rather dumbly. Veleth chuckled.

“It might as well be now. Come, the sooner we break up their bickering the better.”

Bickering was putting it mildly. Aphia, an otherwise gentle and kind elf woman, was practically nagging her aging husband about supposed dangers from within the mine. They stood off at the end of their “home,” which looked more like a run down mining headquarters. 

“Last time you nearly broke your neck! I can’t believe you went in once the spiders nested there!”

Crescius glowered and crossed his arms. “I’m a man, aren’t I? I can handle a couple bugs.”

“An old man against a couple of dog-sized beasts -- oh I’m sure you’ll enjoy that end.” Aphia snapped. Her mouth tightened and drew into a thin line, turning her attention to their guests. “Captain Veleth, this is a rare treat.”

“I’ve come to ask a rare favor.” He answered. An arm was arround Bren’s shoulder’s as he presented her to the couple. Crescius’s thick eyebrows shot up.

“Divines Bless, is that an orphan?”

“I’ve got my mother.” Bren corrected bashfully. Veleth cleared his throat.

“She’s a straggler. We’ve only just sent the message to Skaal Village that she’s here.”

Aphia’s rough demeanor smoothed instantly. “I reckon they won’t be here right away. Even Skaal can’t travel that fast.”

“We wouldn’t mind keeping her awhile until they return.” Crescius agreed. Almost immediately, it looked as if they had not been insulting and arguing with one another just a moment ago. “She’s safe with us, Captain. You’ve got a name, young lady?”

“Bren. Just Bren.” she answered. Veleth withdrew his arm and turned to make his leave.

“You’ll know where to find me if you need me. I trust you two know what to do.”

“Of course! Stay safe.” Aphia answered, the door closing behind Veleth. She turned to Bren with a small grin. “I suppose I should let my husband off just this once. Crescius, come with us?”

Their actual home was much cozier than the mine. Their domed homes would take getting used to, yet it had the similar safe, enclosed comfort of Skaal huts. Inside, Crescius started up the fire in the hearth against the wall as Aphia left to ready her room. The old man gestured Bren down next to him, getting a few ash yams together with butter and some spices. 

“Ever make roasted yams? You stuff them in the hot ashes, and once they’re done, you smother the bastards with butter--”

“_Language,_ Crescius.” Aphia said dryly, walking in with a basket of things she planned to shelve elsewhere. “But yes, the yams will do I suppose.”

Bren looked over at their pantry as Aphia put a few things away -- there wasn’t much there besides some dried vegetables and tubules, a couple of spices and herbs getting low. Once again Bren was reminded of the darkness taking over. Her hostess left the room again to finish cleaning.

“What’s with the mine, anyway?” Bren asked, curious. Crescius’s eyes sparkled.

“There’s ebony there, I know it. I know the others told you it’s dry, but it isn’t. And I can’t just give it up, not after my great grandfather gave his life for it.”

Bren paused a little as she covered her ash yam by the coals. “He did?”

“Oh yes, and it haunted my great grandmother for years. He -- Gratian, that’s his name -- knew something was down there, something holding back the veins even then, but--” he angrily stoked the fire “--the Imperial Trading Company gave up on him and his partner Millius as soon as they disappeared in there. Never bothered to look into it, and blockaded the end of the mine. Rotten Bast--”

“Would you like to see your room, dear?” Aphia walked in again. “I suppose sleep around here is a bad idea, but we rarely have a guest.”

Bren accepted, enjoying the time alone to think and pray a little. There was too much opportunity in Raven Rock to pass off and bide her time. She had to do _something_ before her family came for her. There was plenty of time, right? 

After a simple prayer asking for an answer, Bren was called to dinner and ate their humble fare. She even took out some small pieces of jerky she had left over from her journey that Aphia and Crescius were grateful to indulge in. 

Later that night, they rested together in their room upstairs, talking about what to do tomorrow, and even argued again about the mine. It quieted down, very quiet, and Bren couldn’t handle it anymore: sign or no, she had to go out and look into the mine. 

She just hoped All-Maker could continue with her luck despite everything else she had seen so far.

\----

Morrowind was fun, but Solsthiem called to him.

Now with all that was happening, Teldryn Sero had no idea why. 

Perhaps whatever was calling for people in their sleep had called to him as well. He figured it was a yet another curse for the Dunmer, and simply bided his time until he saved enough money to run off to Skyrim. The Grey Quarters of Windhelm were hell but at least he could sleep well there.

That was, until the girl came in. 

She had that look, of losing sleep and desperate to keep it that way. Her Nord looks killed the theory that the sleepwalking and toiling at the Earth Stone was a “Dunmer” problem. It made Teldryn wonder if this were occurring elsewhere, if it was worth working his ass off just to afford off the island. 

The mercenary sat there staring at his drink, still at that same table in the Retching Netch, hoping for another paycjheck to bring him closer out of here.

“Excuse me, sir, someone told me you were for hire?”

He brought his head up, mask and goggles still on. It was that girl again. 

“I have a feeling it’s past your curfew, little one.”

The Nord-looking girl humphed and threw a braided pig tail off her shoulder. “Actually, I’m Bren, the future shamaness of Skaal Village, trained to hunt and know the signs of All-Maker. Are you for hire?”

Ah, Skaal -- that explained her tattoos at such a young age. Not that it impressed Teldryn any. “Yes, which means I need to be paid.”

“I have just the thing.” Bren said with a smug grin, taking her bag to dump its contents onto his table. All two yams and a dried rabbit’s leg. Teldryn stared at it for a moment before facing her again.

“That wouldn’t even cover a training session with me. And I don’t teach. Go home, little one.” 

The smugness left in an instant. “But it’s a full dinner!”

“Well, I’ve had dinner. I’m worth at least 500 gold.” Teldryn looked down at the paltry food again. “That’s not worth two.”

While Bren pushed the food back into her bag, she refused to admit defeat. “Could I pay you after? Adventuring makes a lot of money, right?”

Teldryn’s voice grew terse with impatience. “That’s the deal, I get 500 plus whatever I pillage on my own.”

“What if I gave you my cut?”

He paused, at least. “Perhaps if there were something to plunder, I would consider it. But--”

“What if it was the old mine? Filled with danger and beasts of all kinds?” Bren interjected, hands on the table. “And I’m not stupid, I know how to fight! I’m the only person in my village who can use illusion magic, and I’ve hunted every season since I was a babe.”

Bren’s face tensed a little, as if worried she would be rejected again. Teldryn had paused again to think before answering.

“Show me then, if you’re so good at it.”

A few surprised blinks later and Bren cleared her throat. “Ah, sure. Hold on...”

Bren took a step back to look about the top floor of the tavern; Fethis Alor had brought in a chicken from outside, likely attempting to cook it for dinner that night. A rare treat but a violent one too. It pecked at his hands as he cursed it. 

“Pardon me, do you need some help?” Bren asked, walking to the farmer. Teldryn stood up to get a closer look. 

Fethis snorted. “I’ve got it, might as well save your hands if not mine.”

“But I can save yours!” Bren insisted with a grin. “Watch--”

She took out her hands from her gloves, calming light illuminating from her palms. Before Fethis could stop her, Bren laid both hands over the chicken and shocked it into serenity. It bawked and shook its head, soon clucking contently half-way through an attempted bite. Fethis picked up the creature to stare at it in disbelief while Bren turned to face Teldryn, her smugness returning.

“See? I told you.”

Teldryn now looked at her weapons. A strong if simple bow at her back, worn from use but otherwise in good condition -- so she took good care of it. The parka and rest of her attire formed from good, strong leather, and his own experience with magic saw that the sigils sewn into the hem glimmered with protective spells. At the least, Bren was not inexperienced or unprepared. 

And it was simply an old abandoned mine...

He sighed. “Alright. You want a deal?”

Bren’s eyes widened with a smile. “Yes!”

Teldryn picked up his sword and sheath, placing it on his belt, and walked out with her towards the mine. “First, you stay out of my way. And second...”

Bren nodded. “Yes?”

“I stay out of _your_ way. Whatever I find is mine, and I take half of yours. So, deal?”

The smile remained. “Deal! Let’s go!”


End file.
